Why Chase Love?
by ImpossibleElement
Summary: He was paralysed, struck motionless by sheer panic and anxiousness. He supposed that's what happened when the worst possible thing comes to pass, which it had for him.


**Why Chase Love?**

The rain was pouring down from the sky in torrential curtains, making it extremely difficult to see anything beyond his own hands. Not that he was in any state to really discern anything right now, even if he wanted. The water coming down disguised the moisture gathered around his eyes, as he tried stubbornly to keep himself from coming apart thread by thread.

There was something almost poetic in raining, specially when all your insides felt like they were ready to drip out of your body too. Almost as if the non-sentient sky was mimicking the physical analogy of your suffering. All Sherlock could think about was how those little raindrops clinging to his skin fell like tiny knives being pushed under him.

The asphalt beneath his knees was hard, but it was difficult to give up. Difficult to stand up and leave behind. Not because of anything it contained, in fact he wanted to be as far away from it as possible, yet he could barely bring himself to get up. He had to, he was aware of that; the only way to follow _him_ was to just get up and walk, but his limbs were not agreeing with him. He was paralysed, struck motionless by sheer panic and anxiousness. He supposed that's what happened when the worst possible thing comes to pass, which it had for him.

Turns out the suspect they were running after was far cleverer than anyone, even him, could asses at first instance. He had had the smart sense to hide a gun as they followed him, and to let him pull it out appeared like the worst decision that came to shatter his world apart. The criminal had shot at them, aiming not only to harm, but to maim; basically putting his target where he knew it would hurt the detective the most. Which was ironically nowhere on his own body, but on the one approaching next to him, looking at him as if he were actually something special.

A shot rung out and it pierced the air swiftly, as if chasing away some invisible thread of fabric in reality. The bullet found its home in the abdomen of his flatmate, his work partner, his dearest friend and the only man he had ever truly and unconditionally loved. Despite not being the one shot, the detective had the sensation of being ripped in half. He felt wounded.

John collapsed to the ground before his eyes, clutching his stomach to try and keep the pain away, the blood inside; but it was everywhere and Sherlock felt useless as to not knowing what to do to stop it. He kept pressure on the wound, and grabbed the doctor's hand like a lifeline. The ambulance arrived a few minutes later, and the paramedics gathered the soldier up to roll him away into the stretcher. Sherlock dropped a shaking and sad kiss to his lover's forehead and told him he would wait for him. Forever. He was not sure whether the doctor had heard him, the blood loss had already made him dazed; but the younger man could only hope he did.

He watched as he was loaded into the back of the ambulance. Still kneeling on the floor and unable to move from the pure fear of losing the most important person in his life. What would the world be like if John Watson never returned? How would he be able to function without him? What was the purpose of ever allowing oneself to feel anything when it will definitely end in heartbreak?

He was completely aware that the decision was taken from him quite early in their acquaintance. That he didn't chase love as much as it chased him, ran after him until he finally surrendered and allowed it to catch up with him. Now, with the possibility of that emotion being gone forever it all seemed rather pointless. Not in the sense where he regretted it, but in the helplessness it came when he realised he could maybe be left with it alone. Trapped inside of him with the object of those sentiments vanished from his existence; without being able to stand them. And then, he got the most horrible thought: he would have to spend the rest of his life with them.

The oppressing need to breathe was ignored for several moments, feeling as if suspended on a static vision where he could no longer escape unharmed. His thinking was halted by the noise inside his soul, yet in his other-worldly state, he knew there was only one thing he needed to do above all else, and that was being there for John.

He gathered his body as much as he could. Standing up in shaky legs like a small animal walking for the first time. And he took staggering steps towards his desired destination. The back of the ambulance was usually reserved just for family members, but who was John if not his family? At the end, the nurses let him climb on with John, if only for the sole fact that he looked like he needed an ambulance of his own; threatening to keel over at the slightest provocation.

The detective sat himself next to the doctor and instinctively reached out his hand to hold the other's. The paramedics were already working on him, trying to salvage him from the utter damage that had been done, but sadly, the detective was not a stupid person.

The problem with being very smart, he always said, is that your mind doesn't allow much room for hopeful thinking; specially not when the negative facts are all there stacked in front of you. It was torture, but he knew he may not return home with John that day, and there was not a single thing he could do to change that. John would either live, or he would die, but he vowed he would never leave him. No matter the outcome of tonight, or what the horrible morning would bring, he would be there, holding his hand until that happened. Whichever came first.

Author's note: Is it ever time to stay?

Inspired by the unreleased song Piano Jam (Ambulance) by Gerard Way.

If you like it, check out my other stories.


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